Cooks in the Kitchen
by lovelielove
Summary: Of all the things to leave her for, Ronald Weasley chose the fact that Hermione just couldn't cook.  No other woman, no issues with her overtime, or nagging, or excessive flossing.  A grueling cooking class with Snape as a classmate and a mad French chef.
1. Chapter 1

Cooks in the Kitchen

AN: Characters don't belong to me and are slightly OOC. First H/S fic, please be gentle!

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Chapter 1

Of all the things to leave her for, Ronald Weasley chose the fact that Hermione just couldn't cook. No other woman, no issues with her overtime, or nagging, or excessive flossing. Just no. Ron apologized sweetly to a thoroughly pissed off Hermione and explained slowly, as if to a confused child, that "a wizard simply needs three, solid, lovingly home made meals a day, tea, and treats to tide him over in order to function properly at work." When she furiously pointed out that she thought that was what she had been providing, he simply shook his head sadly and said, "No, babe. You've been providing frozen dinners, take-out, and meals that I can't properly call food. I'm sorry, love. You just can't cook. And a wife that can't cook is no wife at all."

Hermione had hit him over the head with his supper, at that point. He flooed out of their tiny cottage's kitchen with his tail tucked between his legs, Hermione's wand pointed at the family jewels, and scalding hot mozzarella from what was previously dinner trailing down the side of his great, empty, red head. They weren't even married yet, the git. With a few truly masterful flicks of her wand she had his belongings packed in a trunk with a liberal dusting of the twin's patented Ants Pants Powder and through the floo to the Burrow.

So what if she couldn't _really_ cook? She was a busy woman. Between work, charity functions, friends, and family there was little to no time for trial and error in the kitchen. And why the hell couldn't HE do some cooking? He was tired after long days at work. He didn't know the recipe. He couldn't remember the spell to turn on the stove or mash the potatoes. His mother cooks everyday for her larger family, what's cooking for two? And the kicker? He just knew she was better at it than he was. Ron had many excuses. He always had excuses. "Sorry, love, can't help with the chores this weekend. Quidditch with Harry." "Oh, babe, I forgot to tell you I can't make it to your charity ball. I took the night shift as a favor to my supervisor." Or Hermione's favorite. "Hey, love, here's your engagement ring. I had Mum and Ginny pick it out since I didn't have time. Why are you looking at me like that? We _are_ getting married, aren't we?" Best proposal ever.

Ron and Hermione had been together since the Final Battle. 3 years wasted on a relationship she had already known, deep down, just wouldn't work. They were simply incompatible as a romantic couple. Any of that spark that had kept their teenaged selves so fascinated with each other hadn't turned into a flame as they became adults and only sputtered out once living together became generally unbearable. Honestly, though, who leaves a woman after 3 years because you suddenly can't abide her cooking? A great bloody prat, that's who.

Hermione sat down at her dining table and banged her head dully against the surface a few times, groaning from the heartache. Alright, she was more upset that he beat her to the punch than anything. Damn it! She'd had such a great speech prepared, too! She stood suddenly and stalked to the refrigerator and ripping the door nearly off its hinges. Hermione stared at the sad, but truthful evidence of her lack of skill in the kitchen. Rock hard puddings, giant bowls of mystery left overs, no fresh fruits or vegetables, and a packed freezer filled with instant meals. Shit.

Without a second thought about Ron or the cooling pizza on the floor, Hermione found the newest copy of the Daily Prophet at the window where the delivery owl had left it. She tore through the pages until she came upon the advertisement section of the paper. Scanning the pages frantically, she found what she was looking for. A picturless ad she'd seen and taken note of previously, not because of it's cleverness or humor, but because it seemed to scold the reader. "Cooking is an art, not a chore. Become an artist with our Master Chef." Hermione wrote down the address and open hours, planning to go the very next day.


	2. Chapter 2

Cooks in the Kitchen

AN: July '11 - Did a little clean up. Spot a typo or grammar error? Let me know and I'll fix it ^_^

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Chapter 2

Of course, Hermione couldn't escape them for a few hours by herself. Harry and Ginny arrived at her doorstep not 30 minutes after Ron had escaped, when she had only wanted to wallow in anger alone. Though they walked in hand in hand and were almost always in sync, this time, Hermione got the feeling they hadn't gotten talking past the agreement to visit her. Harry wore sad, consoling expression on his face while Ginny looked nearly as pissed as Hermione did. The couple spoke at the same time to Hermione.

"Hermione, try not be angry at Ron. You know him. He'll be back apologizing to you on his knees in no time at-"

"That git! That completely selfish prat! Don't you dare ever take him back, Hermione Granger or I'll be forced -"

The stopped and looked at each other. "I thought he was your brother, Gin?" Harry asked, confused.

The red head narrowed her eyes and spoke venomously, "I thought you were her friend, Harry." She held up a staying hand when he looked as though he was about to defend himself. "I don't want to hear it. Ron doesn't deserve Hermione, not after this. If ever." Ginny crossed her arms, the sign that she wasn't to be crossed herself.

Harry's mouth open and shut like a bespectacled fish. He wisely took in his wife's words, then resolutely turned back to Hermione, who had hoped she had been forgotten and was trying to sneak out of the kitchen. "Right. Hermione, we are here to support you and you shouldn't take Ron back, no matter how much he apologizes." Casting a nervous glance at the approving Ginny now leaning against a counter, he pleadingly added, "But please consider being friends again. What will I do with my two best mates not talking to each other?" He paused thoughtfully. "Again?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and despite the anger still simmering just beneath the surface, Hermione couldn't help but give Harry a small smile. "Thanks you two. I think I'll be alright. We were never really suited anyway. I'm not even that upset. Besides, I'm moving on and have decided to sign up for cooking lessons."

Ginny got up and screeched unbecomingly, "What? You're not doing this to get Ron back are you? Because -"

"No! No, Gin. I'm doing this for myself. I've got a good career in medical research, a lovely home, and nothing to look forward to. I'm going back to school, cooking school yes, and for the first time it's because I'm simply a terrible at something and need professional help. Even a single girl needs to know how to cook a decent meal for herself, right?"

Ginny leaned over and gave Hermione a hug. When she released her, Ginny held Hermione's shoulders at arms length and looked her in the eyes with a grin. "Think of all the exams you'll be able to look forward to!" Harry groaned and Hermione laughed. And for a moment, while the three friends laughed in Hermione's bright, airy kitchen, the thought came to her that it was strange how relatively unfazed they all were with the break up. The Potters left after tea, promising to help with the cooking lessons if she needed them and taking the rest of Ron's belongings and Hermione's engagement ring in a shrunken cardboard box. Ginny added the Ants Pants Powder to the box with relish. Harry kissed Hermione on the cheek before wrapping his arm around Ginny's waist and apparating away.

Hermione flicked her wand and the dishes set to washing themselves and the pizza on the floor found its way to the trash bin. She sighed, slipped off her shoes, and padded barefoot into the living room. She pulled a cook book off the sagging book shelves and plopped herself onto the horrifically yellow, overstuffed couch. She pored over recipes, understanding that you get ingredients and mix, heat, and serve in various ways, but not comprehending how she always messed it up. Cooking a recipe should be like following a potions recipe, right? Put the right ingredients together at the right time with the right heat and number of stirs and you will always get the same result. Perfection. Simple. Definitely easier than helping defeat a wizard despot, than passing her Newts with all Os, than living with Ronald.

Rubbing her hand across her forehead, she sighed again. Simple. Right. When she burned omelets, burnt chicken, but left the inside raw, over or undercooked any vegetable, and couldn't boil noodles without them becoming a block of inedible starch. She fell asleep in the afternoon sun, the cookbook open in her slack hands, dreaming of taking lessons from Julia Child and Mrs. Weasley who both gave her Troll grades at the end of every lesson. Hermione didn't wake until dawn the next day, when Crookshanks decided her face was the most comfortable place to sleep. Again.

She fed the ginger tom, showered, and dressed in grey, muggle slacks, an soft, blue knitted top, and heels. Throwing her hair up into an artfully messy bun, she slipped on her robes, secured her wand and apparated to Diagon Alley where registration began for the new branch of Richard's Cooking Arts School at 8:00. The little school only took 6 pupils at a time, seeing as how Chef Richard ran one other school, muggle, and had both a popular wizarding and trendy muggle restaurant. 3 lessons a week for a year, homework, no holidays, and a pricey registration fee ensured that only the truly committed would sign up. Hermione's heels clicked satisfyingly on the cobble stones and a quiet bell tinkled when she pulled open the door. The little school was located where Fortescue's old ice cream shop used to be. Hermione was gratified to see a framed photograph of a smiling Fortescue serving a four scoop ice cream cone to beaming child on the foyer wall when she walked through the door.

Three other people were already sitting on the little bench in front of the secretary's ancient oak desk, filling out paperwork with expensive looking quills. The secretary, a round, rosy cheeked, friendly, English woman, introducing herself as Chef _Ree-shard's _wife, handed Hermione the same paperwork and provided an handsome self-inking quill. Apparently the Chef was French. "Here you are, dearie. Just answer this questionnaire and lessons will start tomorrow, Monday, afternoon at 4:30. You can arrange the fee payments with me tomorrow, dearie." Hermione instantly liked the woman and felt suddenly very cheerful at the prospect of taking a class from her husband.

As Hermione thanked the woman and turned to find a seat on the bench, the door tinkled open again. She looked up and found herself face to face with a sallow nose with a face. She shook her head. Face with a nose. Long, lean, greasy black curtain of haior, billowing black robes, puckered scar on neck, sneer. It was-

"You," he drawled.

"Professor Snape," she nodded in greeting politely and sat on the edge of the long bench, studiously ignoring him. Cooking lessons with Snape as a classmate. Shit.

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I love Ginny and Harry. He's so happy to be her bitch.


	3. Chapter 3

Cooks in the Kitchen

AN: July '11 - Fixed a few typos. See any more, let me know. Also let me know if you like the story! I love to hear from you.

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Chapter 3

To say that Severus Snape was unhappy was an understatement. Disgusted seemed a more apt term. Out of the thousands of wizards and witches in Britain, Hermione Granger had to take cooking lessons at the same time at the same culinary school. Besides Granger and himself, there were five other people in the foyer area of the large open room. A deep red, shaggy rug denoted the entrance along with a flourishing white orchid plant, the large Fortescue photograph, desk, bench, and coat rack. The jolly looking secretary hummed an annoying little tune while gazing absentmindedly out of the completely transparent shop front windows and door at the passers by. One could see all of the stoves, prep counters, equipment, food, and, Snape supposed, every student all the way to the back wall of the school from outside. A nervous, mouse of a woman sat on one end of the foyer bench toying with her long brown braid and adjusting her spectacles. Two thirty something year old wizards chatted jovially about the latest quidditch news sitting nearest the mousy woman. Besides them sat another familiar, and ever so slightly more welcome face. Blaise Zabini, cool and aloof in his impeccably cut robes, sat with his arms crossed over his chest as if completely bored. The young man nodded to his old head of house. Snape likewise inclined his head in acknowledgement. And next to Mr. Zabini sat the female portion and brain to the- ugh- Golden Trio.

Snape would have found another cooking school or signed up for the next round of pupils at his first glance at Granger if he could have. But the fact remained that he needed this class. He needed to eat. Dining out for every meal was too expensive for his limited means. Trying to shovel down his own alternately burnt beyond recognition or thick as paste type meals was no longer an option. He was forced to admit the humiliating truth - that he needed assistance. It was more budget friendly in the long run to take cooking lessons now than eating out forever. It was almost unfathomable that a Potions Master of his caliber could need lessons on how to use a stove or stir a pot. He wondered briefly why each of the 5 other people chose the same recourse, when the younger Slytherin turned to speak with Ms. Know-it-all.

"Granger." Blaise said by way of greeting.

"Zabini," she replied, polite, if not warm.

"What brings you here, Granger? The weasel turned you out for a woman who can cook?"

The last time they'd seen each other had been at one of Hermione's many charity fundraisers, that particular event was to benefit war orphans. They'd been cordial and even danced once. Hermione knew by Blaise's open expression that he hadn't meant any harm by the comment and was only teasing so she smiled back at him. "Close." Zabini's look of surprise was endearing. She could see Snape pretending not to listen in, but she didn't mind. The man had been a spy, so Hermione wondered how she could decipher his actions by only glancing at him. "I've been dumped because of the awful things that come out of my kitchen. So, here I am." She spread her arms as if to present herself. At Zabini's quizzical expression, she continued. "Not for Ronald, of course, but for myself. I need to learn how to feed myself at some point, right?" Zabini smirked. "And you? I had the impression that you had servants or elves to hand feed you grapes while you sit on a divan being fanned by ostrich feathers if you wished it."

"Ah, yes. Had being the operative word," he confessed ruefully. "I have only enough at Gringotts to last a year. My mother has cut me off until I cease my playboy ways and find a decent girl to give the family ring to."

"Oh dear, how tragic for you." Hermione said dryly.

"Yes, quite. And you Professor Snape?" Snape's head suddenly whipped toward his former pupils. "What brings you to Chef _Reeshard's _school? Surely you are not truly in need of cooking lessons as a Potions Master?"

Seeing the flush of embarrassment spread across Snape's high cheekbones Hermione interjected before he could make a scathing reply. "But, Zabini, if I remember correctly, you were quite good in Potions. Even I was," she spared a glance at her old professor who was glaring at her, "adequate. And look at us here. Good at potions, rotten at cooking."

"_OUI! Exactement!_" A very tall, very skinny, very excited, black mustached man with an immaculate white chef's jacket and toque upon his head had materialized at the school's door, gesturing wildly and speaking quickly. His voice was loud and booming and unbearably nasal, though his accent wasn't too terrible. His energy, however, was overwhelming. "Many of my pupils claim to be good at potion making, but _terrible _at cooking for their families! Zat is why we are here, _non? _Wizards and witches take too much for granted! You will learn to cook masterpieces ze Muggle way. No majeek. No wands. Creating a meal is ze act of an _artiste_, not a scientist." The two thirty something wizards began to bluster in outrage, the Chef snatched up their questionnaires and interrupted them. "Women may **need **a man that can provide. But women **love** a man that can cook. Do you two have women to go home to yet?" The men were suddenly silent and sheepish. "I thought not." He tsked. "Both of you 34 and no wive. How sad." He looked up at the 6 students, took in the thunderous expression of the man in all black, then thumbed through the other questionnaires. "_Mon Dieu! _None of you are married? Well, we shall try to remedy zat, _non? Ah, mon cherie," _the chef practically purred to his wife, "would you please pass out the syllabus?" He bent to kiss her rosy cheek and swept out of her way.

The men and women who were to be Chef Richard's students all scowled at the French man as they took the sheafs of parchment floated before them. Odd couple. Snape continued to glare, but the chef ignored him. When he spoke again, Chef Richard's voice was stern. "You will do only basics for ze first 3 months - understanding ingredients, using your tools, prepping sauce bases and simple dishes. Zen, I will teach you a long list of recipes sat you will each perfect. By ze time I am done with you, _mes enfants, _you will be able to prepare a perfect 5 course meal by yourself and even improvise if you wish and have a certificate from us. I only ask zat you do **exactly**what I tell you to, when I tell you to. I am an excellent teacher, but if you do not perform to my standards you will be sent away until ze next lesson. Throw a fit in my class and you will be expelled with no refund from this school." He huffed importantly, then turned and stalked out the door without a backward glance. Leaving the question: Just how often do people throw fits in his class if he has to emphasize the consequences right up front?

The chef's wife smiled at their gaping faces as though this behavior was completely normal. "Alright dearies? Your supply list and set of rules is included in your syllabus. From tomorrow on, bring non-slip shoes, or you can keep a pair here. We will provide jackets and toques." She smiled warmly at Hermione who was gathering up her purse. "Oh, and my dear, you simply must find a way to keep your lovely hair from flying away. Nothing like a hair in your soup to ruin a meal, eh?" Blaise snickered behind her.

Hermione could only stare in disbelief at the gall of the woman. "Uh, yes, thank you Mrs…"

"Oh my! How silly. My name is Helen Lefevre. And, Richard is, of course Mr. Lefevre."

"Right," said an already standing Blaise. "Thank you very much, Madam Lefevre." He tilted his hat and exited swiftly. The brown haired mouse blushed and inclined her chin in a barely noticeable farewell. The quidditch fans shook Madam Lefevre's hands effusively. Hermione smiled and said, "Goodbye, Mrs. Lefevre." Snape merely raised an eyebrow and followed her out the door, bell tinkling. Then, suddenly the little cooking school was empty.

Helen Lefevre let out a breath, she didn't know she was holding. Merlin! The man in black was quite intimidating. Though, the pretty, wild-haired thing seemed very much unaffected, as did the striking young man. Such an interesting class this term. The other three students barely registered on her radar, but she made a note to thoroughly read all of their questionnaires when she normally only looked for food allergies.

Zabini had stopped to gaze into the window of the Weasley Twin's joke shop when Hermione had caught up to him on her way to the apparition points. "They were surreal weren't they?" she asked chuckling dryly.

"Who, Chef _Reeshaaaaard? _Nothing we're not already used to. Sounded a bit like Hogwarts actually, without the points or detention. Besides it's only 3 lessons a week. And it was Mrs. Lefevre that threw me most. Like a cuter Umbridge without the all the bitch." He shrugged casually. "She seemed agreeable enough, though."

"You're right. I'll see you tomorrow then?"

Zabini leaned in and graced her with his best, boyish, heart breaker grin. "But of course, _mon cherie!" _

"Flirt!" she accused laughingly and turned to continue on her way. She froze when she saw Severus Snape stopped only a few feet away, face expressionless, eyes locked with hers. For some reason, the dangerous flint in his gaze caused her to blush. She looked down and hurriedly walked past him, though she felt his gaze on her back the rest of her way down the alley. She raised her eyes at the moment of apparition and caught a glimpse of his eyes still on her.


	4. Chapter 4

Cooks in the Kitchen

AN: First off, thank you so much for reading! Secondly, apologies for the long wait (if anyone was actually waiting) I can't make promises on regular updates, but I will. Eventually. I cleaned up Chapters 1-3 again, hopefully I got all the typos this time.

ENJOY!

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Chapter 4

As the squeeze on her lungs from disapparition released, Hermione walked up the garden path to the porch of her little cottage sitting on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. She had loved the house immediately, with its charming flower garden and sturdy stone construction. It was situated in that area of the town where the houses were spread further apart and the gardens were much larger. She'd even thought it might have been a lovely place to start a family with Ronald. Obviously, she had miscalculated those particular plans. The heels of her shoes clacked pleasantly as she walked up the steps and onto the outside landing, trying to shake off the unhappiness of those thoughts. Lowering her wards, she opened the door, stepped into the entry way and placed her purse and paperwork onto the small table just inside the door, the catchall area for keys, mail, spare parchment and quills. It was barely lunch time.

Crookshanks circled her feet immediately, complaining loudly to be fed. "Alright, alright, Crooks. Let me at least take my shoes off." When her feet were bare Hermione walked into her kitchen and pulled out a small tin of cat food and served it up to her purring, ginger tom. She poured a small glass of white wine for herself and sat at her kitchen table despite the early hour. Her fingers tapped restlessly the table as she watched Crookshanks eat on the floor.

What then hell _was_ that in Diagon Alley with Snape? She could still feel the imprint of his eyes upon her skin, causing a not altogether upleasant squirming, edginess in her muscles. She'd been scrutinized by Professor Snape before as a student… what was so different now that she couldn't brush off that flinty look as a personality trait? Had she done something to draw his attentions to her? What had he heard when she was talking with Blaise? Anything offensive?

Hermione thought for a moment… No. Harmless flirting between friends. Chatter about the class and it's teacher. Nothing significant. For all she knew he was staring at her because he saw something appealing. Or disgusting. It was all very puzzling and not very consequential in the scheme of things. Besides, dwelling on Severus Snape seemed neither fun nor healthy.

Hermione determinedly pushed all thoughts of her former Professor to the back of her mind. This, however, only highlighted the fact that there was nothing else for her to think on. Work was all sorted and planned for the next year. Her charities were running smoothly and needed no more guidance or funds for at least a few months. Even her Christmas knitting was clacking away automatically in the spare room.

The lonely silence had never been so loud. She felt restless and almost out of place in her own home. Hermione's underutilized intellect and drive were causing her to wonder if S.P.E.W. ought to be reestablished. Perhaps someone's life needed her meddling… Neville? Luna? Harry or Ginny? The Weasley's were out, obviously. Any of the Malfoys? No- they all had their lives on track toward the future. Unlike her. She sighed.

Crooks was done eating and looked up at her reproachfully.

"What?"

He continued to stare, yellow eyes accusing.

"Yes, yes. I realize that all of my well-intentioned interfering is never appreciated and will probably backfire. I promise that I won't do anything of the sort."

…

"I won't!"

Crookshanks glared another moment, then cocked his head at her in a way that could have been adorable barring the rather sarcastic and patronizing energy pouring from the half kneazle.

Hermione threw her hands in the air. "Fine! Believe what you will!" she snapped at the cat, who only gazed back knowingly. She downed her wine in one. "I'm going out!" Hermione stormed into her bedroom, threw open the wardrobe, now half empty, and picked out a slinky, rust red number that brought out the highlights in her hair and the gold in her brown eyes. Ginny had bought it for her years ago and Hermione had yet to wear it. The dress was simple, casual even, but it hugged her in all the right, or wrong, places and Hermione hadn't worked up the courage to sport it in public. It was barely autumn and the weather was temperate enough to wear the dress, whose hem reached a few inches above her knee. "Might as well," she muttered to the empty room, grasping the hanger and thinking that arguing with her cat was a good enough reason to eat out.

Thirty minutes later, a fresh faced, rather manic Hermione Granger in a smashing red dress and a pair of buttery soft, knee high, leather boots, strolled to the middle of Hogsmeade, before the Three Broomsticks. Her fly away hair was pinned back, but still curled riotously around her face and shoulders. She opened the door and immediately regretted her impulsive decision to dine at the pub. It was packed. What had she been thinking? The Three Broomsticks at lunchtime? Of course there was not a single table empty. She took in the occupants in the pub at a glance. Coworkers out for a bite together. Elderly friends reminiscing on the good old days. Goblins, hags, and a variety of working folk doing business and grabbing a bit to eat. Young families, screaming toddlers. Couples gazing into each other's eyes with stars in their own.

And as suddenly as she had felt the need to eat at the Three Broomsticks, Hermione now felt a dull stab in the area of her sternum and a wave of self pity washed over her. Despite Ron's horrendous lack of social etiquette and conversation skills, she suddenly missed that feeling of knowing that, even though she was alone in the room, she wasn't truly alone.

However, now she was. Merlin, was it only just hitting her now in the lunch hour rush? She'd been dumped. Unwanted. It stung, no matter that she was about to dump him, too. And despite her dedication to her career and support of worthy causes and despite her great friends and huge successes in life (helping Harry defeat Voldemort for one) she felt rather empty. Useless, even. Glaringly single and… quite suddenly pathetically hungry at seeing a very delicious platter of shepherd's pie float by. No tables, no seats, and no boyfriend.

Just as she turned to dejectedly retreat the way she came, she spotted an empty seat at the bar and made a bee line toward it, her spirits soaring. "Butterbeer and whatever your special is today, Ros!" she called out the to happily humming, wand flourishing owner.

"Sure thing, Hermione!" Rosmerta swished her wand, an airborne butterbeer appearing. "The yorkshire pudding and roast alright?"

Hermione jumped onto the bar stool, grasped the handle of the mug, and took a grateful slug of the delicious drink and moaned. Merlin, when was the last time she enjoyed a fresh butterbeer? "Sounds good, Ros. Oh! And do you have any of those chocolate cauldron cakes? Great."

She took another deep draft of the sweet drink and sighed in satisfaction. Who needs men when there's sweet drinks and chocolate? Taking a survey of the people around her, she started when she realized who was sitting to her right. "Hello, Professor."

Severus Snape was watching her again, an unreadable look on his face. "Granger," he drawled in hello. "Though, I am no longer 'Professor,' am I?" He held a tumbler of amber colored firewhiskey in his long fingers.

"No, I suppose not," she murmured thoughtfully. "Now that you're my classmate, what should I call you?"

Snape looked a little surprised at the question, the corner of his lips turning down in a frown. He opened his mouth to answer in what would have been an undoubtedly snarky tone, but two plates, piled high with a yorkshire pudding, a bit of roast, mashed potatoes, and vegetables, slid in onto the countertop in front of them.

"I don't think 'Snape' will do," Hermione commented, picking up her fork. Merlin's pointy hat. Why on earth was she trying to start a conversation with this man? He was gazing at her like she was mad.

"I… suppose," he hesitated, "'Severus' is serviceable."

It was her turn to be surprised. "Really?"

He sighed in exasperation. "Does Mr. Snape sound right to you?"

She laughed. "I guess not. Well, then," she raised her mug to his glass. "Cheers, Severus. I'm Hermione."

Snape smirked. "Cheers."

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AN: Reviews are always lovely! Please let me know what you think!

I've never had yorkshire pudding, though I hear it's delicious. I love me some carbs. Oh! New idea! bread baking chapter! Mmm…


	5. Chapter 5

Cooks in the Kitchen

AN: Just caught Dan Radcliffe on John Stewart. He seems like such a genuinely nice and happy guy, doesn't he?

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Chapter 5

Hermione pulled on her dragonhide boots, non-slip and perfect protection for brewing, and laced them up tightly. She was dressed comfortably for her first day of Chef Richard's class - her mother's pearl earrings, practical boots, an airy, pink blouse tucked into a high waisted, wide legged denim jeans. She cross checked the contents of her purse to her odd supply list. Quill and ink - check. Parchment - check. Bandaids - check. Chef's knife - check. Coffee mug - check. Hair ties - bugger.

She'd forgotten to floo over the Potters' after lunch the day before to ask Ginny for hair control advice. She'd been… distracted. Hermione and 'Severus' ate their lunches under the cloud of an awkward silence. When her chocolate cauldron cake arrived, she wordlessly offered to share with Severus. Before he could accept or otherwise, Zacharias Smith appeared at her side, telling her that he knew she'd been dumped and made a pass at her with a sleazy line she was still embarrassed to remember. She politely declined, despite the overwhelming urge to hex the prat's balls off, and turned back to her chocolate. Smith, instead of taking of the hint, slid an arm around around her waist and said in what he apparently thought was a sexy voice, that while her words said, "No, thank you," her provocative red dress said, "Yes, please, take me now."

Hermione had turned maroon in outrage and had raised her wand to hex his genitals to mush, but Snape already had the man's arm twisted behind his back painfully and was leading the slime out the pub door without a single word. She sat there, wand aloft, mouth gaping. What. the. hell? Did… did Snape just defend her? She waited for him to return, but when she turned back to the bar she spotted the money he'd left behind to pay for is meal.

Hermione paid her own bill and walked home in a bit of a daze, completely forgetting the vague plan she had made to visit Ginny to fix her hair. Now, she had 30 minutes to floo to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, let Gin work her magic (non-literally), apparate to Diagon Alley, and eat breakfast. Making some quick calculations and throwing on a plain blue robe, she nixed the whole breakfast thing and threw herself into the fireplace with a bit of floo powder.

She emerged onto the old headquarter's kitchen hearth, already dusting off soot from her robes, checking for singes, when she heard a low moan. Hermione looked up and immediately regretted it. "Ooohhh… Harry!"

"Oh, my god!" she yelped. Hermione spun to face the wall and slapped her hands over her eyes so hard she was sure there would be red handprints on her face. "On the kitchen table? Really?"

"Oh! Hermione!" Harry squeaked. Harry squeaking was always funny. Until now. She heard Harry and Ginny scramble off the table and tell tale sounds of zippers being done up and skirts rustling back into place. "Sorry about that," Harry mumbled sheepishly. "All clear."

"I don't think I'll ever be able to look at you again, Harry Potter!" she groaned, still not uncovering her eyes or turning around. "I saw your arse!" Could her voice get any higher? A slightly sick feeling turned in her stomach. "Your _bare _arse, Harry! I'm going to have to burn out my eyes!"

Ginny laughed and walked over to Hermione to pry her hands away from her face. "Here now, I like that particular arse. And it is our house, you know. We can have sex anywhere in it we please." But, Hermione was putting up a struggle and refused to let her pull her hands away. "I'm sure you interrupted us for a reason. Didn't you need something?" Gin added coaxingly.

"Yes, but, I can't look at Harry right now, Ginny!" Hermione's voice was panicked. "Tell him to go away!"

"Harry?"

"Sure thing, love."

Hermione listened to his receding footsteps.

"He's gone now, Hermione." She peeked through her hands to see an amused Mrs. Potter smirking at her. "Feeling better?"

"Oh, god, what time is it?"

"A quarter past 8, why?"

"Quick! I need you to fix my hair so that it won't fall into anyones' soup!"

"First day of lessons, I take it?"

"Yes, I need to be there before 8:30 and the chef's wife is very sweet, but she made a comment about fly away hairs that Blaise was laughing at and Professor Snape was there and he stared at me, but he's not my professor anymore, he's now my classmate, too, and I think he gave me permission to call him Severus and what the hell, Ginny! I _eat_ on that table and-" she hadn't paused for breath, so Ginny interrupted her.

"There, there. Let me get some of my pins and I'll fix you up in no time." Ginny floated out of the kitchen and returned to find Hermione still standing before the fireplace staring into space.

Ginny split Hermione's hair in half, french braiding either side from the tip of her forehead to the base of her neck, continuing the braids to the tips of her hair, then wrapping the loose ends in along her head, and securing them with pins. The effect was a pretty wreath of braids that emphasized Hermione's heart shaped face, but Hermione couldn't care less. "Ginny?" She grabbed her friend's hands desperately. "I think Harry's bum has broken my brain."

She laughed. "Your brain is fine, Hermione. You've got the strongest brain I know of and Harry's bum doesn't stand a chance against it no matter how firm and grabbable. You'd better get to your class- you have 5 minutes. I'll tell Harry you said bye and that we've traumatized you for life, alright?"

"Right. Thanks Ginny." Hermione still felt a bit sick, but she spun on the spot and landed in Diagon Alley, where she walked in a daze to Richard's Cooking Arts School. She pushed open the door and her eyes immediately met Severus Snape's cold glare, like she'd done him some personal offense. She vaguely wondered why he'd be angry with her.

"Good morning, dearie! Chef'll be ready for you all soon!" greeted Mrs. Lefevre effusively. "Oh, my. Whatever is the matter? You like quite ill!" The plump woman hurried around her desk to feel Hermione's forehead. The other students were already lounging around the little foyer and had all turned to ogle Hermione. "You don't seem to have a fever."

Eyes still locked with Snape's, she choked out in strangled, horrified whisper, "I just saw Harry's naked bum!"

Everyone froze for a moment. Then, Blaise was doubled over on the bench, giggling like a little girl, the mouse (Kerrigan Merry) was pressing her hands to her suddenly blazingly red face, the two thirty something wizards (Hercules Moran and Peeter O'Callaghan) were whispering to each other, probably trying to figure out if she meant Potter, and Severus was no longer glaring at her, but seemed to be laughing at her with his black eyes. Evil man. No sympathy at all.

"You poor dear!" tsked Mrs. Lefevre causing Blaise to snort loudly and giggle more. "How about a nice cafe au lait, hm?" She guided Hermione by the elbow toward the large kitchen area and had her sit on a stool beside one of the many countertops. "Do you have your coffee mug with you, dearie?"

She nodded and motioned to her purse. Mrs. Lefevre took the liberty of finding it and filling it with sweet, steamy, coffee. How did the chef's wife know that she liked it with 3 sugars? "Thank you," mumbled Hermione, clutching the warm mug like a lifeline.

At that moment, Chef Richard whipped into the little school and clapped his hands twice. "Everyone to a countertop! _Excellent, _Ms. Granger, already sitting at ze best seat in ze room. Ahh…" He breathed in deeply, his black mustache twitching into a smile. "Good morning, _mes enfants!_ Let us begin!"

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AN: I hope you enjoyed this silly little chapter that came out of nowhere. To be honest I have no particular idea where this story will go. I'm going to try to make it be longer than my previous stories, but chapters will be short, as usual.

How would _you_ react if you saw Harry Potters butt? My reaction would a bit more like Ms. Mouse. :p I love love love to hear from you!


	6. Chapter 6

Cooks in the Kitchen

AN: A short one. Enjoy!

*Did I forget to mention this is AU (should go without saying if you've read DH or seen DH2) and is slightly OOC? And I in no way, shape, or form claim ownership of the main characters or get any kind of profit for writing . All that beautiful money goes to JKR and all those people who made those 8 movies. You know who they are.

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Chapter 6

"Let us begin. First of all, let me introduce myself again." Everyone was settling onto a stool beside a countertop. Snape took in his new surroundings, noting minute details. It appeared that there were three fully functioning kitchens in the room, three stoves, three sinks, six ovens, two students, etc. per kitchen. The stoves, ovens, and some counter space took up the back wall. The prep counters they were directed to sit at lay like three islands with sinks. Under each counter was a line of drawers and open shelving that held many shiny pots, pans, bowls and plates. A large wire pantry displayed a variety of foodstuffs to the right of the tri-kitchen area. Then, too late Snape realized that there was only one stool left when he was finished studying the layout and he had next to a still slightly green Granger. He wondered briefly why the upper part of her face was pink.

"My name is _Richard Lefevre_. You may call me Chef Richard or simply Chef." He said his own name like it was ruddy magic, but Snape was happy the man at least seemed confident. A former teacher himself, he needed a teacher who knew what he was doing. The man's mustache covered his whole upper lip and Snape wondered if it ever tickled. "I am 58 years old. Half-blood, if zat matters. I have been a chef for 41 years, cooking for 50. I trained at ze French Culinary Institute of New York. I worked my way up in a few muggle restaurants in my younger years until I was able to become a head chef." He swept a disgustingly loving gaze toward his plump little wife, who was tut-tutting over Granger, and said, "We opened our own restaurant 20 years ago in muggle London called _Helene's _and a small culinary school as well_. _Three years ago I opened another restaurant down ze road called _Riche _and last year we opened ze school you are sitting in right now. You are our third class. You have read the course outline and know what things I will teach you." Chef Richard said all of this, pacing sedately in his white jacket and toque, with a lilting, pleasant voice, the 'th's were soft and his 'r's rolling, though his accent was a little off. Probably because he trained in the New York. "Those are the facts..."

_**SLAM!**_

Chef Richard slapped his hands onto the countertop by the middle stove making everyone, yes even Snape, jump. The only person who didn't jump was, of course, Mrs. Lefevre. He heard Granger smother a laugh next to him. She wasn't green anymore at least. The chef was breathing hard, his back to his students.

"But here is what I hope you will **learn**." Then he spun around, a hand over his heart, and began to speak with a conviction and passion that seemed completely disproportionate to the subject matter, in Snape's opinion. "I wish for you to **learn** you how to cook ze way I cook for my family at home and not ze way I cook for a four star restaurant. Ze way my mother cooked for me. With _**love**_. **Love** is what will make your meals delicious. **Love **is what will make your food nourishing!"

_Oh dear gods,_ Severus groaned. _Not again._ After Dumbledore's 'Love is the most powerful thing in the universe' bullshit, Snape was ready to walk out the door. But Chef Richard kept going, his voice getting louder and louder until his last sentence was practically a roar. "You are each here for a reason. You will never be master chefs and will probably never work in a restaurant. You don't want or need to know how to make zat five course meal I mentioned yesterday - but you will be able to if you want to! Zeese lessons are for six months only. Three times a week for six months is approximately seventy-two lessons. Seventy-two lessons to learn what I learned in 40 years ! You can do it if you believe in love! YES!" he shouted to the ceiling- the mousy girl jumped again. "I will push you until you _bleed_ if I have to, but you can do it! I believe in you! _ VIVRE L'AMOUR!_"

All six students gaped at the man they had just signed on to work with for the next six months with varying expressions of horror. Then, from the little desk behind them, Snape heard a dreamy sigh. He turned to see Mrs. Lefevre staring at her husband with stars in her eyes. When he he turned back around, Granger caught his eye and she was looking right back at him with the same panic he was feeling. What had they gotten themselves into?

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AN: I took basic French in high school because I love France! Please don't be offended by my depiction of Chef Richard. He's just a silly character with a lot of love to give to the world ^_^ Also, if I make an error, please correct me!

**How do you like our chef? Let me know in a review! **I had an English teacher like him in my senior year of high school, except without the accent.

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_Preview of Chapter 7... has been copied, pasted, and revamped for the actual post of Chapter7. Sorries! _


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Little tiny change from the preview. Not mine. JKR's. Sorry for another short chapter. I'm in the middle of wedding preparations and the beginning of the school year for my first graders. I am the champion of procrastination.

_"VIVRE L'AMOUR!"_

Oh. My. God. Was he crazy? Hermione's morning couldn't possibly get any worse. Harry's bum, getting semi-laughed at, and now a love crazy teacher-chef! How did she not know the nice French chef was crazy? And his wife was looking at him with that sappy expression Hermione _hated._ It reminded her of Lavender in her 5th year. Shit. Even Prof- Sna- Severus looked scared! Severus Snape. Showing emotion - conveying a weakness! It was just… wrong. All indicators initially pointed to martyr or black hearted fiend or superhero or any combination thereof, but now vaguely point to humanity or average joe-ness. The two quidditchmen literally gaped at the chef, their mouths hanging slack in comically identical expressions of disbelief. One, however, had reddened darkly around his collar and neck. And, good grindelows, look the mouse! She was ashen faced and like she was about to faint! Even Blaise, visibly sweating now, noticed and seemed to be ready for a catch if she fell from her stool.

Then, Chef Richard took a deep breath and smiled a strangely benign smile. "Helen will give you a tour of our facility and zen when we reconvene in an hour we are going to get to know each other. Be prepared to state five facts about yourselves to ze class. Three facts may be anything about yourself. One fact must be about why you are taking this course and one must be a secret you haven't yet shared with anyone. Comprenez vous?" No one said a word. "Good. Have fun!" And the crazy mustached man was out the front door.

Mrs. Lefevre sighed happily again as everyone turned their attention to her and Hermione barely restrained her shudder of revulsion. By Circe, she prayed that she would never, ever be so, so… so damn _twitterpated_!

"Well," Mrs. Lefevre stood and busied herself with swish-and-flicking away Hermione's empty mug. "Chef has gone down to check on the lunch prep at _Riche._" She went on to mother hen all of them, clucking and smiling, into hanging their outer robes on a coatrack by the door so as to be more comfortable and to unpack the supplies they'd brought. "Choose a station, dearies. Two to each prep counter. I'm sure we're all mature enough to share, yes? Problem, Mr. Snape? No? Alright, then. There's an empty drawer for your writing utensils and bandaids and a magnetic strip near the stoves for your knives. We'll hang your mugs over here." She waved her hand toward a funny little crooked mug tree that couldn't possibly have held up with out the aid of a charm now standing on secretary desk.

"There's coffee every weekend morning and after work in the afternoons. We're a coffee drinking family, but we do have some tea if you'd like to brew your own. Oh, and I almost forgot!" The bubbly woman waved her wand, muttering a charm. Six chefs jackets and six toques were summoned to land before each student. Snape viewed Hermione discreetly, though, once again, she could feel his eyes on her like a physical caress. She felt the urge to floss rise up, but pushed it down. Nervousness or anxiety had always made her want to floss excessively. She'd only tamped down on the urges near 5th year.

"Mrs. Lefevre?" asked one of the quidditch enthusiasts.

"Yes, Mr. O'Callaghan?"

"Is it really necessary to wear these?" he had plucked the hat out the air and held it between his fingers like it was about to bite him. At her surprised expression, he continued hastily, "I mean to say, I'd feel rather like a fraud, with my lack of any skill and putting this on."

"For now, yes, Peter. Besides, there's a way of thought, isn't there, that you don't dress for what you are, but what you'd like to become. I'll discuss other options with Chef a bit later, alright?"

Peter nodded glumly and drew on his toque and jacket as did his friend, Hercules. Hermione felt ridiculous too when she put on her own generic white jacket. The hat, however, fit rather nicely atop her braids. She secured it with an extra pin to be sure it wouldn't simply fall off. She wished she had a mirror, but then, Zabini spoke the words in her head. "How do I look?" Hermione turned to look at him. And laughed. Devoid of his outer robes, Zabini's purple silk shirt and rather tight orange, leather, riding breeches were on display looking ridiculous for a Sunday, well, any day for that matter. His hat was tilted jauntily to the right, the jacket slung over his shoulder casually. Behind him, Mrs. Lefevre was tut-tutting and buttoning up the mous- Kerrigan's jacket like a three year old. Hermione noted in the back of her head that she really needed to learn her other classmates' actual names.

"You look horrible, Zabini!" she laughed again. "Your mother's done away with the help hasn't she?" The man's slight pout was her confirmation. "I can't believe you can't do your own laundry! It's a very simple charm, you know."

"The shirt was gift from my great-great-uncle and the leather's from Pansy. Oi, how did you know about my mother's elves?" He blustered half-heartedly, buttoning up his white jacket now. "I only just noticed this morning that my wardrobe hadn't been refilling." Zabini adjusted his collar.

"No one would ever put on that hideous combination unless they had no other choice," she grinned. "And no time or money to purchase new clothing. At least they fit well."

He shrugged. "Yes well, she forbade them last week from doing anything around my flat to help me unless I marry or if it's a matter of life or death. But no need to worry, Granger. I'll figure it out. It seems to suit you, sir.

Hermione was confused for a moment before she realized that Zabini had spoken the last sentence to someone behind her. She turned around to a sight nearly as shocking as Harry's pasty white backside. Severus Snape dressed in white was… a revelation. It really did suit him. Odd how his coloring appeared less sallow and his hair more black and shiny against the white. A splash of embarrassment stained his cheeks slightly pink. Wait. He was standing at her station.

The quidditchmen- Peter and Hercules, were checking out their station. Zabini was behind her at the other station and the mous- Kerrigan, was examining the magnetic knife strip of their station. Snape and Hermione were partners. Fabulous.

AN: Awkward place to end? Yes. I think so too. But I'm falling asleep. Better to post before I start typing the equivalent of an inksplash/squiggly pencil line. (You know what I mean) Don't expect chapters for any stories, this one included for a few weeks. But I suppose it might be a pleasant surprise, for me and you, if I actually get a chapter for BKS or WW.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Naughty, naughty lovelielove, staying away from her computer for so long and not updating! I do have a valid excuse however. I am now (finally) married. Woot. Yes, it was beautiful, elegant, stressful enough to make me lose 15 lbs without even dieting (gained it back within a week), and I hope to never ever do it again. Since my wedding 2 weeks ago, I've had to catch up with my work and housework. Yay. I am now broke, overweight, and overworked. What's new? Please enjoy the fruits of my labor (aka my own form of denial therapy).

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Current year: 2001 - 3 years post BoH

The quidditch men- Peeter and Hercules, were checking out their station. Zabini was behind Hermione at the other station and the mous- Kerrigan, was examining the magnetic knife strip of their station. Snape and Hermione were partners. Fabulous.

She was delusional for having thought they could get along after their unintentional dinner together. He'd only really sneered and glared at her since she'd arrived.

Snape's color was high, but said nothing to her as he placed his quill, ink, bandages, and a few healing potions into the drawer. Hermione noticed the sleeves of his white jacket were a tad short for him. She was silent as well and followed his example by putting her own quill, ink, bandages, and extra hair pins into the drawer. Her mind was shifting in odd ways to accommodate the overload of strange happenings. Anxiety made her palms sweaty and she tried to cool them by pressing them flat against the cold countertop as Snape watched her discreetly. Damn, she really wished she hadn't run out of dental floss after Ron's idiocy.

Hercules and Peter were examining the gas stovetop and ovens like they were strange alien technology, which when Hermione thought about it, they must seem to be when compared to the typical wood burning stoves of the wizarding world. Blaise was trying to greet Kerrigan, who was shying away but managed to shake his hand. Snape had sat on a stool and was watching Hermione's mind slowly come undone, her eyes becoming frantic and her breathing rather labored. This was really just too much in the space of one day. The man, as far as she knew, hated her. Though he was brilliant, he was snarky and sarcastic, prejudiced and cruel, and for the most part an angry, bitter person. How could she work with him?

Severus Snape eyed the increasing pallor of Ms. Granger with what seemed like worry and spoke for the first time, "Mrs. Lefevre, I do believe another application of coffee is in order." He gestured to his partner as all eyes turned to him.

"Oh dear," muttered Mrs. Lefevre, summoning Hermione's mug and the coffee pot across the room. She bustled over, tsking and feeling the girls' forehead again. "Perhaps you truly are unwell, my dear. Do you need to go home? I'm sure Chef will understand."

"Really, Granger, if you're ill you should leave," piped up Blaise. "None, of us want to be sick as well."

"I- I can escort you home, Ms. Granger," mumbled a beet red Kerrigan in a soft voice, as if speaking was a reason for embarrassment. But Hermione appreciated it nonetheless. "Or to St. Mungo's if you need."

She shook her head mutely, gripping the mug handed to her and sipping the hot, black coffee, then grimacing at the bitterness. "Thank you. I think I'd rather stay." Might as well get this hell of a day over with.

At that moment, Chef Richard swept back into his little school, beaming at his students. He then frowned as he observed everyone gathered in a knot around Ms. Granger. "Is there a problem?" he asked seriously.

"Not at al-" Hermione was cut off.

"She's feeling poorly, sir," replied Moran.

"We were just discussing who should take her home," continued O'Callaghan.

"I'm fine!" she managed to interject swiftly. "I suppose I've just had a rather trying morning, is all."

"Hm, you were positively green this morning and now you seem quite worked up over something… And you do seem very tense, my dear," said Mrs. Lefevre thoughtfully. "When was the last time you had a good orgasm?"

"WHAT?" Hermione sputtered. "I- I- don't-"

"You don't have orgasms, Granger?" Blaise teased with a grin. "That's very sad. You should definitely go to St. Mungo's if that's the case, right Kerrigan?"

Kerrigan was as speechless as Hermione.

"Or, per'aps, you are pregnant?" asked the Chef, not unkindly.

"I am NO-"

"Me mum was sick as a dog for all six of her pregnancies," offered O'Callaghan irrelevantly.

A nerve twitched near the corner of Hermione's eye.

"Maybe you shouldn't be drinking coffee, Ms. Granger," suggested Moran.

"Absolutely right, Mr. Moran!" cried Mrs. Lefevre. "Pregnant women should avoid caffeine," she snatched the warm lifeline that was Hermione's coffee out of her hands. "I'm sure I have some herbal tea somewhere."

Hermione stared in disbelief at her empty hands, the concerned faces around her, and then to Severus Snape, looking lovely in his white jacket, with his smirking mouth and laughing, black eyes, and then snapped.

"Don't you laugh at me, Severus Snape," she hissed, jabbing a finger at him, causing the others to look at her confusedly for the could have sworn he had been silent during the whole conversation. Then she turned to shout at them. Severus had a feeling that if her hair had been free from it's confines it would be crackling frizzily with electricity. "I AM NOT PREGNANT. Nor am I orgasm-less! Or ill. I am simply overwhelmed with this morning's events. Please return my coffee, madame, and Chef - can we _please_ get on with today's lesson so that I may go home, take my headache potion, and bury myself under the covers of my bed to wallow in my humiliation forever?"

"_Oui, _by all means, Ms. Granger," stated Chef Richard briskly. Suitably chastised under Hermione's scowl, everyone made their way to their stools, Mrs. Lefevre to a spare chair on the side and Chef to his lecturing space between the foyer and islands. "Since I am here a bit early, why don't I give all of you some time to write down your five facts and we can share, in let us say, fifteen minutes? Can I see you for a_ moment _outside, _mon cherie?_"

The Chef led his little wife outside, the bell tinkling merrily. All six students watched through the large plate glass windows that fronted the school as Mrs. Lefevre and her husband pantomimed their conversation. They were very expressive speakers. Snape could make out the parts where Chef asked what had happened, his palms up and pleading, and where Mrs. Lefevre explained when she passed out the jackets and toques, actually passing out imaginary clothing, and here he lost interest. The men and women at the other stations had already lost interest in the Chef's conversation as well and were already writing away, using their countertops as desks. Hermione was sitting stiffly gripping her recovered cup of coffee, breathing deeply, and rubbing the uppermost bridge of her nose. Snape reached into the drawer pulling out their inks and a sheaf of parchment for both of them, hesitated, then drew out one of the tiny vials he'd placed in there earlier. He cleared his throat, "Ms. Granger," he mumbled. She must not have heard for she was now concentrating very hard on the little blue cartoon elephants and the little red heart above their heads on her straight sided mug. She strangely pressed the mug against her forehead, like a warm compress. "Hermione?" he muttered. She did not start, but slowly turned slitted eyes upon him, looking around the mug pressed between them.

"Yes, _Severus?" _she growled.

He barely contained rolling his eyes. "Do retract your claws, woman," he said exasperatedly. "I only wanted to offer you this." He held out the small glass vial of robin's egg blue liquid on the palm of his hand.

"A headache draught?" She eyed him and the bottle suspiciously.

His hand had been hanging in the air for a time before she slowly put down her mug to take the vial from his palm. She unstoppered the bottle and held it to her pink lips, taking it like a shot of hard liquor. He gulped. Immediately the furrow between her brow smoothed and she smiled at him. "Thank you, Severus. I hadn't expected kindness from you."

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Yes, well… I can only imagine the horrors you faced just this morning." She shuddered in agreement. "One must always be kinder to those less fortunate." Was he- was he _teasing _her? It was hard for either of them to tell, but she smiled at him again anyway.

"And you really do look dashing in that jacket," she whispered before plucking up her quill and furiously writing on the parchment he had provided.

And if he sat a little straighter and bit more confidently in his seat with a more self-satisfied angle to to his typical scowl, no one knew.

Chef and his Mrs. returned soon after, inquiring if everyone was ready to share. "Helen shall go first, zen myself, and in order of your seating beginning with Ms. Gr-" catching her glower, Chef quickly improvised, "Mr. Moran and Mr. O'Callaghan."

Helen Lefevre (55)

1. Hufflepuff, half-blood, born in 1946, Grad 1963 (friend of older Prewetts)

2. Moved to America during First Wizarding World where she was a waitress and met Richard.

3. Married Richard at 20 had two children; Jacqeuline (30) and Amelie (28).

4. Reason for classes: Comes to the school to help out only because she has no grandchildren to spoil yet.

5. Secret: No secrets from Richard. Loves matchmaking and will attempt to match every single person in his classes. (Cue reaction shot of all students looking, once again, horrorstruck)

Richard Lefevre (58)

1. Beauxbatons alumni 1960

2. Mother, a French muggle woman, taught him to cook at age 8 to keep him out of trouble. Father, a British wizard, died when Lefevre was 6.

3. Went to culinary school in New York in the 60s and worked in kitchens throughout most of the 70s.

4. Reason for classes: To spread his philosophy of life and cooking. LOVE is the answer!

5. Secret: Has a fondness for Big Macs.

Hercules Moran (36)

1. Hufflepuff, bachelor, Irish, favorite past times are Quidditch (watching, playing, discussing) and wizard's chess

2. Cousin of chaser Moran of the Montrose Magpies and Irish National team

3. Ministry of Magic employee in the Department of Magical Games and Sports

4. Reason for classes: Boredom, to keep Peter company

5. Secret: Widower, his wife- who did all the cooking and was a lovely person, passed away when they were only 20.

Peter O'Callaghan (36)

1. Hufflepuff, bachelor, Irish, favorite past times are Quidditch and football (soccer)

2. Half-blood, his mother, a witch, fell in love with a muggleborn wizard because she was so impressed with his football skills. They had 6 children

3. Ministry of Magic employee in the Department of Magical Games and Sports

4. Reason for classes: To stop eating his own disgusting concoctions

5. Secret: Asked Hercules to join in on the classes because he's also tired of eating Hercules' disgusting concoctions (earns a hard punch to the shoulder)

Kerrigan Merry (17)

1. Born in Hazel Grove in Cheshire. Only child of Karen and Morgan Merry.

2. Muggleborn. Private tutors until 11 because of a 'delicate constitution'- Hogwarts, Ravenclaw. One of the many evacuated students.

3. Loves to design clothing; muggle and wizard. Hates being the center of attention.

4. Reason for classes: Need for independence from her parents.

5. Secret: Parents think she's taking public speaking lessons.

Blaise Zabini (21)

1. Slytherin, pureblood, son of Katarina Zabini-Montoya (married happily to beater from Spanish national team)

2. Weakness for elven wine, rich food, and expensive toys.

3. Learned to act from his mother as means of self-defense and protection.

4. Reasons for classes: Learning to feed himself while he's being financially cut off by his mother until he marries.

5. Secret: Wants to marry for love. (Chef applauds and cries a little)

Hermione Granger (22)

1. Gryffindor, Golden Trio, Muggleborn, Friend of you know the drill, blah blah blah

2. Freelance Magical Medical Researcher, yes, it is a job she created herself, but she gets good work and gets paid well enough to take on any job she likes

3. Involved on the boards of several charities and has a cat/kneazle named Crookshanks

4. Reason for classes: Wants to learn something new and become more self-sufficient

5. Secret: Would have broken up with Ronald anyway, but throwing herself into some sort of study will help her to get over the whole thing

Severus Snape (40)

1. Potions Master, former professor at Hogwarts, Slytherin

2. And since everyone already knows, thanks to Potter's verbal vomit when taunting Voldemort, Ex-Deatheater, Ex-spy for the Order of the Phoenix, former suitor of Lily Potter nee Evans, and all around greasy git with a heart of gold, and no he doesn't want to talk about his feelings

3. Currently self-employed

4. Reason for classes: While ordering out is convenient, cooking at home is financially more practical, but currently unacceptable to his internal organs

5. Secret: Hates snakes. (muttered under his breath with death glare)

A smattering of applause was given after each speaker and at the end of the sharing Mrs. Lefevre made coffee for everyone, though Hermione declined seeing as how she had already had two cups. Chef spoke from his lecturing spot. "Helen, will you summon the cook books, _s'il vous plait? Merci. _ You will spend ze rest of today's lesson looking through ze cook books we have on hand to choose a recipe for your homework." Moran, Zabini, and O'Callaghan all groaned in unison. "Yes, boys, homework. Your assignment is to choose a single recipe to cook for someone you love before our lesson on Friday afternoon. One foot of parchment is also due with reactions from your loved one, and your feelings on cooking sat particular recipe. I will see you on Tuesday afternoon if you have any questions and we will have our first lesson on ze basics."

There were mutterings all around. "Sir?" asked Peter. "None of my loved ones will eat what I cook." This was greeted with nods of agreement from most of the students.

Chef Richard grinned mischievously, the tips of his black mustache curling up, "Ask them first and if they refuse, zen try your chosen recipe on a friend or acquaintance who does not know of your… weakness, and invite them over for supper. Be sure to have a back up plan ready if they do not like your cooking, _oui?"_

"Yes, sir!" Peter grinned back and began rifling through the cook books that had been set on the countertop before them. Chef shook his head in amusement. O'Callaghan and Moran behaved more like quidditch mad teenagers than full grown men.

Hermione knew exactly who she would inflict her cooking upon. She nearly rubbed her hands and cackled with glee. Oh, yes, Harry and Ginny shall pay dearly for her brain damage.

At one point she and Severus reached for the same cook book, which he graciously handed over to her. She wondered then, who would he cook for?

* * *

AN: Sorry, I know it's sort of odd to see this survey type layout in a fanfic. My reasoning is that dialoguing the whole thing out or just revealing little bits at a time would take too long to read and would have you losing interest (if you haven't already). Et voila! You get the whole shebangs! Obviously there seems to be more than one fact per number, but the boys and girls felt like sharing today. Also, their lessons take place on Sundays from 8:30 to 2:30, and Tuesdays and Fridays from 4:00 to 7:00.

Yes, I like Hufflepuff. I'd be sorted into that house, no doubt about it. I have very little sneakiness, bravery, or true smarts, and I've been told (by several people in different settings) that I am a great friend (aw) and have this very funny tendency to display every thought on my face. I can't lie to save my life. Except while playing poker. Then, I rock.

Who do you think Snape should cook for? McGonagall? The Malfoys? Maybe Shacklebolt or the Lupins? I already know who, but I'd like to know what you think ^_^


	9. Chapter 9

AN: As usual, I don't and never will own any of this fun stuff except for the storyline here. OOC and a bit AU, obviously! Enjoy and review, please! (unbetaed: forgive and point out any typos pretty please)

* * *

In the hours that the cooking school students spent poring over the amazing cook book collection of Chef Richard, each chose a simple recipe. Chef, meanwhile, answered their various questions – like how does one control the heat of a wood burning oven? (It only takes simple charm– note here 23 flicks and swishes and a page long incantation in archaic latin- to control an oven fire and read its temperature.) Or, what is iceberg lettuce? (No, it is not a vegetable grown atop an iceberg. NO, do not use cabbage as a substitute.) Or if one doesn't have a frying pan, is it alright to use a baking pan on the stove? (Only if you want to set fire to your home. Buy a damn frying pan.) And other such questions.

Each student dutifully transcribed their recipes onto their parchment to take home and prepare within the week.

By the time they packed away their toques and jackets and had a last exploration of their new classroom, it was past 4:00 and Peter, Hercules, and Blaise were rushing off to try to catch a pick up game of quidditch that was rumored to be played between the Department of Magcial Law Enforcement trainees and some of the younger members of the International Office of Magical Law. Kerrigan was fretting frightfully over whether or not she had chosen a good recipe, putting on her coat and purse only to remove them again when she thought she may have seen a simpler recipe in another book, and Mrs. Lefevre was patiently talking her down like a nervous horse while Chef went to check on Riche's dinner prep.

Hermione and Severus were hanging up their puffy white hats and coats together, each awkwardly avoiding eye contact lest they should have to speak to each other. Hermione murmured her goodbyes to the panicking Kerrigan and increasingly mollifying Mrs. Lefevre as she draped her robes over her arms and stepped into the afternoon sunlight and the busy hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley.

Just behind her Severus Snape followed toward the apparition points near the Leaky Cauldron. His eyes were free now to view her figure and he was struck anew at how very appealing, and for that very reason – how very disturbing, the girl's appearance was to him. When he'd entered the little school earlier in the morning he had been full of venom and vitriol ready to be aimed at her.

She had surprised him just the day before when she'd plopped down next to him at the bar in the Three Broomsticks. She hadn't even noticed him, but, sweet Merlin, he had noticed her. When on earth had the bushy haired know-it-all transfigured into a woman? She had moaned when she drank from her butterbeer and the sound must have scrambled his wits because he had had an almost civil conversation with the Granger girl, even going so far as to give her permission to call him Severus.

They had eaten their meals separately and in silence, but he was hyper aware of the woman beside him the entire time. When Rosmerta served Hermione the chocolate cauldron cake, the girl had nudged the plate over so that it was directly between his and her seat and then silently offered him the second fork that Rosmerta, the not-so-closet matchmaker, had left for him.

Snape honestly couldn't say whether or not he would have taken the extra fork, but just the fact that his immediate instinct wasn't to decline, unsettled him mightily. Then, Zacharias Smith, once a pustule of boy, now a raging wart as a man, sidled up to the other side of Granger and uttered a truly offensive pick up line. Snape had rolled his eyes in disgust and took that moment to pay his bill intending to disappear. Granger, smart girl that she was, declined Smith's offer, and just as Snape had turned to leave he spied Smith's arms encircling her small waist and heard the wart essentially telling her that she was dressed like a tart and her words meant nothing. Unfortunately for Smith, something Snape could never abide, even as a Deatheater, was any man forcing his attentions upon an unwilling woman.

Before he knew what he was doing, the ex-potions master had… escorted Smith out the front door and had the man tripping over his own shoes when he pushed him away from the pub. "I recall that you had a penchant for inattention in my classes, Mr. Smith," he intoned smoothly. "Perhaps you need another lesson on listening when a woman says no?"

Zacharias Smith obviously hadn't known who had forced him out of the building until he managed to turn around, the ugly sneer on his face melting into pale terror at the sight of his former professor. "N-No sir. No lesson needed."

"Be along now, Mr. Smith." Snape had watched the man cradle his arm as he apparated away.

Snape then went to his own dismal home cursing inwardly for even getting involved, regretting not leaving as soon as she had sat down. His his unsettling pleasure at being her reluctant dinner companion had raised a series of emotions he though he'd had under control: self-loathing, repugnance, shame, and, worst of all, a delicate filament of hope. This was the bushy haired, buck toothed, know-it-all, ultimate-bringer-of-migraines, _Granger_! He felt irrational rage with regard to Hermione Granger for causing any reaction at all.

When she walked in, looking quite fetching in her simple attire and altered hairstyle, the graceful line of her neck exposed, he felt a reluctant stir in his nether regions and he cursed his cock for its betrayal. Without thought, elegant, spiteful words and insults rushed to to the tip of his tongue, but were silenced quite suddenly by the horror on her face and the words that followed.

"I just saw Harry's naked bum!"

Merlin, if he hadn't been a spy for 20 some odd years he may have either fallen over laughing like Zabini or possibly vomited right then and there at the thought of Potter's pasty buttocks. Granger's day in class had spiraled downward from there and it got to the point where Madame Lefevre was insinuating that all Granger needed was a good orgasm, at which Snape's blasted cock had betrayed itself again, volunteering to help out with such a cause. When she snapped after the mob mentality of the class decided that she was pregnant and removed the warm, caffeinated beverage from her hands, Snape had been nearly ready to run from the room so he could simply laugh out loud. Oh, the look on her face was priceless!

For as much as her appearance may have transformed, Hermione Granger was still a fierce little lion cub and he was oddly grateful that her personality, at least, hadn't changed all that much. And when she turned on the spot to apparrate a few steps ahead of him, his eyes caught hers in a brief, indecipherable look.

* * *

After a horrible day, Hermione did indeed go home to wallow miserably under the covers in bed early on Sunday night, eating single-serving pre-frozen lasagna, half a bottle of red wine, and a pint of tiramisu flavored Haagen-Dazs, but not before sending a quick, polite owl to Harry and Gin saying that she'd be delighted to come over to cook a romantic meal for them the next evening and that they'd better not eat beforehand or disappear because she'd track them down, petrify them and cook their meals for the entire week.

Harry's reply went something like: "HG, This is for credit isn't it? Don't worry, we'll be here as your scared-shitless guinea pigs to support your cooking endeavors. Also, if you petrify a single hair on my wife's head or force me to eat an entire week of pre-culinary-school-Hermione-meals I may need to show you more than my arse in retaliation. I love you, but you know that I will absolutely stoop that low. All our love, Harry and Ginny"

Hermione shuddered and spent the night tossing and turning trying to get that terrible image out of her head, only succeeding in seeing laughing black eyes, and Snape in white and getting a total of 2 hours of sleep

The next morning was spent in her lab in London analyzing the latest round of test data for a charm/potion combination as a possible form of inoculation against dragonpox and also thoroughly researching vaporizing charms that might be used in creating a mist-like potion that could be inhaled much like the nasal flu-mist that muggles used for said vaccine. At lunch she ate a cookie and bought groceries for her chosen recipe at the nearest Tescoes. After lunch she found a cure for motionsickness and sent her notes to the Ministry for the Department of Potions and Charms Regulations' approval.

Having learned her lesson, Hermione apparated to the top step of No. 12 Grimmauld Place, arms full of groceries and a crinkled piece of well-read parchment, her transcribed recipe, and wand clutched in her hand. Not having hand or arm to knock, she kicked the door three times, nearly losing her balance. "Harry and Ginny Potter, I know you're in there!" she shouted. "You open this door right now or I'll he-"

She was cut off when the door swung open, revealing a barefoot Ginny in a jumper and skinny jeans, rolling her eyes. "Always threats with you, eh? Why didn't you just set the groceries down and open the door? You know the wards are set to let you in." Ginny grabbed a bulging grocery bag before it tumbled to the ground.

"Well I would have flooed into the kitchen, but we all know how dangerous that is, don't we?" she retorted acerbically. Ginny only laughed and Hermione huffed as she strode past her red headed friend and down the newly modernized hallway (with new light grey paint and white trim and bright, working sconces) and into the stairway leading to the basement kitchen, also recently remodeled. Really, the only thing recognizable in the kitchen was the trusty old stove and the old, long dining table. Hermione felt her stomach protest again remembering what she'd witnessed only the previous morning on that table. Placing the bags gently on the ground she flourished her wand, muttering a series of cleaning and sanitizing charms on the whole tabletop, earning another eye roll from Ginny.

"Harry!" Ginny's voice boomed toward the stairway as the girls began unpacking groceries. "Hermione's here! Get your lovable arse down here!" The red head grinned pointedly at Hermione.

"Oh, ha ha, you cow," Hermione deadpanned, though there was no resentment or heat behind it.

"Whatever!" Ginny replied brightly. "By the way, what are we eati- Oh! Harry, there you are. Would you be a dear and set the table on the other end?"

"Hi, Hermione. Sure, love." Harry kissed both girls on the cheek and set off to follow his wife's request happily.

"When I'm done helping unpack, I'll get you a drink. Would you like a bottle, Hermione?"

"Butterbeer?

"No- muggle beer. What did we have left, Harry?"

"Hm. Some pale ale and Guinness, I think."

"Ooh! Guinness for me, Gin."

"Sure, Herm- Um, Hermione? What in the name of Merlin's pants are you cooking for us?"

The ingredients spread out on the table did look rather formidable. Hermione had added little extras to the cart that might make the cottage pie she wanted to make a bit more tasty than the original recipe. As much as she wanted to make her friends pay for her earlier trauma, Hermione would rather succeed at cooking something good and delicious.

She hummed as she began sorting through the ingredients, began, with a little help from her wand, to measure, peel, chop, boil, melt, preheat, mash, grind, brown, season, stir, sprinkle, and bake, intermittently responding to some funny anecdote from Harry and sipping her Guinness.

About 1 hour later, Hermione pulled out the very pretty looking cottage pie from Harry and Ginny's oven and her confidence soared. It looked just like the picture in the recipe book! It even smelled good!

When it was cool enough, a smiling Hermione served up plates to her friends and one for herself, but sat, watching Harry and Ginny's hopeful looks.

* * *

"… The greatest among my many mistakes in this misadventure in cooking was burning the onion, carrot, and garlic, using vegetable stock instead of beef stock, purchasing chop streak instead of ground beef, pepper jack instead of cheddar, accidentally using too much salt and pepper, not heating the old oven properly, and not cooking the potatoes long enough before mashing. At least, that is what my victims discerned after they had managed to spit out their first bites and dissected their slices of my very first cottage pie I should also, perhaps, have not tried to improvise. The paprika seemed like a good idea at the time.

Harry says he will continue to support my cooking experiments, but will no longer be able to be guinea pig after retching for nearly an hour. Ginny, whose stomach is made of harder stuff, says that she'll help me shop for ingredients next time since I obviously only vaguely looked at at some of the labels.

I know I did badly. I had a bit of an emotional breakdown when we had to throw the pretty pie away. It was like a death in the family. I want so badly to learn this skill, but am afraid to fail. It helps that I am not the only student in this endeavor. I hope that I am only able to keep with them."

* * *

AN: Damn. I lost the link to where I found all these fun recipes, but I managed to copy and paste a select few for upcoming chapters. If you make the recipe, let me know how it came out for you! ^_^

~lovelielove

**Cottage Pie is** one the quickest and easiest supper dishes with this easy Cottage Pie recipe. Traditionally a Cottage Pie is made with ground beef, and if using ground lamb would be called a Shepherd's Pie but the recipe is the same for both.

**Prep Time: 30 minutes**

**Cook Time: 40 minutes**

**Total Time: 1 hour, 10 minutes**

**Ingredients:**

2 lb / 900g peeled potatoes, quartered

6 tbsp milk

1 stick/ 110g butter, cubed + 1 tbsp for the sauce

Salt and ground black pepper

1/2 tbsp lard or dripping

1 cup/ 115g chopped onion

1 cup / 115g chopped carrot

1 clove garlic, minced

2 cups / 450g ground/ minced beef

1 pint / 600 ml beef stock

1 cup / 115g chopped white mushrooms

2 tbsp finely chopped flat leaf parsley

1 tbsp all-purpose flour

1 cup/ 115g grated Cheddar Cheese

**Preparation:**

Serves 6

Heat the oven to 375°F/190°C/Gas 5

Boil the potatoes until soft, drain. Place the milk and butter in the pan used to boil the potatoes, return to the heat and warm gently until the butter has melted. Add the potatoes and mash. Season to taste and keep to one side.

Melt the lard or dripping in a large deep pan. Add the onion and carrot and fry for 5 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for another minute.

Add the ground beef and one-third of the beef stock to the onion and carrot mixture and cook, stirring constantly until all the meat is browned. Add the remaining stock, parsley and mushrooms, season with salt and pepper. Cover with a lid and cook for 15 minutes.

Mash the flour into the remaining 1 tbsp butter then add in small pieces to the ground meat sauce, stirring until all the flour has dissolved and the sauce has thickened slightly, approx 5 mins.

Place the meat sauce into an 8"/ 20cm by 3"/7cm deep ceramic of glass ovenproof dish and cover with the mashed potato. Sprinkle the grated cheese potato on top and bake in the heated oven for 30 - 35 mins until the surface is crisp and browned. Serve immediately


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Update? Update! This was originally one chapter, but got way too long, so here's about half of it! Enjoy!

* * *

Tuesday morning, Hermione rolled out of bed with a figurative black cloud over her head. She mindlessly followed her normal morning routine and headed to the kitchen. Her meal for the Potters had been a disaster, so for breakfast she chose something fool proof. At least she couldn't mess up cereal and milk. She put the last of her Weetabix into a bowl and absentmindedly poured the milk over it as she thought over her tasks for the day. Work at St. Mungo's, lunch, work at Azkaban Hospital Wing, Diagon Alley for cooking class, dinner, bed. Thrilling. Hermione sighed and took a bite of her cereal – and choked. The spoon clattered to the counter while she rushed to spit out the spoiled milk and stale Weetabix into the sink.

"SWEET MERLIN'S BOLLOCKS! You've got to be kidding! Really?!" She picked up the milk carton, glowered at the expiration date, and viciously chucked it into the trash bin. Hermione rinsed her mouth and threw the whole bowl into the sink with disgust. "Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck!"

Crookshanks meowed loudly, disapproval evident in his tone.

"I'll use whatever language I want in my own home, thank you very much, Crookshanks! UGH!" She grabbed her purse irritatedly and groused to herself as she headed out the door. "Cereal and fucking milk. Not even cereal and bloody sodding milk!"

Hermione's mood grew worse as her day progressed. Some idiotic temp intern at St. Mungo's had taken it upon himself to do some tidying in Hermione's research lab the night before. Exactly 17 potions had been ruined beyond repair, more than half of the formulas and arithmantic equations that had taken months to perfect were erased from her chalk boards, and every single piece of parchment that had been stacked in well organized piles around the room had been resorted by, of all things, length. The entire sixth floor of St. Mungo's hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries felt Ms. Granger's wrath in the form of severe dressing downs of any and all within the chain of command that had let such a travesty occur. With her mother, Professor McGonagall, and Molly Weasley as models in terms of guilt giving, righteous indignation, and fury, Hermione had most of them in tears and the temp out of a job.

Lunch was no better. Hermione meant only to grab a pasty or meat pie at the Leaky Cauldron and be on her way to Azkaban for the afternoon. She was halfway to the bar where Tom, the establishment's owner, was polishing a countertop before she realized that he was speaking to a tall red-headed person. She stopped in her tracks fully intending to about face and leave when Ron's eyes lit on her. The friendly expression he had been wearing melted into one of anger.

Which made Hermione laugh out loud, because, if she was honest with herself, she always thought that Ron's angry face was ridiculous, sort of reminiscent of constipation - all curled upper lip and scrunched up nose and brow.

"Hermione," he growled.

She giggled again. "Ronald."

"I can't believe you! Did you think I wouldn't find out it was you?" His ears were turning red now, she observed with amusement.

"Do you mean the itching powder? Yes, that was me. And Ginny helped," she smiled serenely.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

"And you're a horse's arse. We all have our little idiosyncrasies."

"I wanted to stay friends, Hermione," he thundered. "Isn't there enough history between us that we could have managed that?"

Oh. Hermione hesitated. "Of course. Of _course,_ Ron. You'll always be-"

"WON WON!" a high, happy voice pierced the air.

Hermione's eyes narrowed on Ron, whose righteous indignation abruptly transformed into sheepishness. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." Hermione turned around to see a beaming Lavender Brown, who had heart eyes only for her Won Won - until they fell on Hermione.

"You!" she shrieked, causing every eye in the vicinity to turn toward the newest lunch hour entertainment. Lavender stomped over to them and quickly wrapped her arms around Ron. "What are _you_ doing here?" she addressed Hermione coldly.

Hermione simply stared at them in disbelief.

"Lav - come off it," Ron muttered.

"No, Won Won! You told me that once you broke up with her you wouldn't be speaking to her again. I don't want her hanging on to any hope that she could have you back."

Hermione's eyebrows had nearly disappeared into her hairline and Ron was now a distinct shade of maroon. "'Once you broke up with me?'" she snarled. "You- YOU- YOU PRICK, Ronald Weasley!"

"Mione-" he whined.

"Shut your mouth you, hussy!" shrieked an irate Lavender. "He's mine again and you can't have him!"

Hermione laughed hysterically. The Leaky Cauldron's patrons were absolutely captivated by today's drama. "I don't WANT HIM, you daft cow! Ronald Weasely is a lazy, disgusting cheat and a complete and utter dud in bed! You can have him! As for you-" she swiftly raised her wand to Ron's nose menacingly. He froze and whimpered. "I could hex your bits off and you know it." He cried out in fear. "But I won't." Ron sagged against Lavender with relief. "I'm going to tell your mother what you've done."

Hermione snapped her wand back into its holster and finally did her about face and left the Leaky Cauldron, it patrons, and a horrified and blubbering Ron with his "new" girlfriend.

* * *

By the time she reached Azkaban, her eyes were dry and she was ready for work to take her mind off of that prick. One of the guards (wizard, not dementor) met her at the authorized apparition room and led her to her destination. The hospital wing at the wizarding prison was a bleak place and it matched her emotional state at the moment. The brutal faced Death Eater Yaxely was, as usual, lying mutely on his hard, white hospital bed in his grey prisoner's robes, eyes shut in a caricature of sleep. The man was in a coma and had been since George Weasley and Lee Jordan had taken him down during the Battle of Hogwarts. It seemed that Yaxely's condition was permanent. Beside the Death Eater, on an uncomfortable looking chair, sat a mute and oddly blank faced Pius Thicknesse, his long black hair pulled back from his overhanging forehead in a pony tail and his beard, more silver than black. The former puppet Minister for Magic was still mysteriously under the hold of Yaxely's imperius curse. Azkaban officials, at the behest of the Thicknesse family, had contacted Hermione to find a medical reason for this continued control.

She had been on the case for almost nine months with little progress to show for all her work and while Hermione was frustrated with her failed potions and spells, the man's sister was incensed. The woman was a thorn in her side and made Hermione's work with Pius miserable with her whinging and harping on about not doing enough of this or doing to much of that, but doing nothing herself to help.

Angelica Thicknesse, a black haired, hatchet faced woman who had lived in the the U.S. for past twenty years, marched up to Hermione from the other side of the bed and shoved her finger in Hermione's face. "Listen here, missy," she attacked. "I don't care if you're some hero or genius or whatever. If you can't find a cure for Pius, I'm going to get someone else to do it! We've been paying you for nine months and you haven't done jack! He's entitled to your best effort and I've done my research on you, Ms. Granger. I know you've got a hundred other irons in the fire. How can you be doing your best to help my brother if you're involved in so many other projects?!"

Hermione blinked. "Are you kidding me?" she wasn't sure if she was talking to the woman in front of her or the universe. "Ms. Thicknesse, with all due respect, you are an idiot."

Angelica Thicknesse turned puce. "Excuse me?! You little-"

"I am your _only_ hope for Pius to ever return to normal. There is no one else can or will do what I've done. I've done more research and experiments and trials and put more _heart_ into helping your brother the past nine months than you have done your entire life! _I_ know that _you're _only here in the hopes that when he is cured - he'll be grateful enough to reward you with some of the assets and money you didn't receive because you were disinherited from your family for being a money hungry bitch."

Angelica's jaw was nearly to the floor and her face had turned white.

"Furthermore, _you_ haven't paid me a sickle. The Ministry pays me." Hermione pulled two vials of potions from her pocket and turned her back on the woman. She gently manipulated Pius, still staring at nothing, into opening his mouth and swallowing the contents of one of the vials, making sure he didn't choke. She checked his pulse, his pupil response, and did her standard checks - asking him to look at her or tell her about his day or to take a turn about the room with her. With his only response being to stare more at the wall, she sighed and turned to Yaxely. Hermione poured the contents of the other vial into his mouth and looked to make sure that it was ingested safely.

Replacing the glass containers into her pocket, she spun back round to glare at the black haired woman still gaping. "I suggest, Ms. Thicknesse, that you do not speak to me like your servant again, because when Pius is restored to himself I will not hesitate to inform him of your behavior and your intentions." Angelica blanched. Hermione sighed and rubbed a hand across her forehead. "I was going to do some physical therapy with Pius today, but I don't think I will be able to be patient enough today to benefit him. Take him home and be back here tomorrow at the same time."

"But-"

"Same time, tomorrow!" Hermione snapped.

"Yes, o-of course."

* * *

Soon, Hermione was back in the Leaky Cauldron and doing her best not to cry. What a horrible day! This day beat out the awful day she saw Harry's bum by a lot. And it wasn't even over yet. She had her class at 4:00 to attend and her essay to turn in. Hermione checked the time on the wall. Barely 3:00. She briefly considered just sitting down at the bar and asking Tom for a bottle of Firewhiskey and a glass, but thought better of it.

Well, she thought, better early than late, and trudged through the brick wall and through Diagon Alley to Richard's Cooking Arts School. The quiet bell tinkled when she entered the little school and was headed toward her work area when she heard a the familiar voice of her old professor. "Mrs. Lefevre, I will say this one last time, there is _no one_ for me to cook for."

"Oh dear, I'm not- Oh, Hermione, dear! You're almost as early as Severus." Mrs. Lefevre, pink cheeked as usual, seemed rather flustered.

"Hello," Hermione said simply, looking curiously at both Severus and Chef's wife. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No, no. It's only, well," the woman wrung her hands and gave a sideways glance toward the scowling man standing beside her.

"I am trying to explain that I will be unable to complete our first assignment," Snape grumbled.

"Oh." Hermione set her bag down and removed her robes revealing a smart, black pencil skirt and a sleeveless, pink blouse. "What about the Malfoys?" she inquired as she sat down on her chair.

"Narcissa is visiting friends in France and Lucius refuses to let me use his kitchen or give him any food that is not prepackaged."

Hermione smiled, amused. "I see. Hm, well, how about someone at Hogwarts? Professor McGonnagal? Or I'm sure even the Lupins would say yes if you only asked."

"I did not come here to discuss all of my non-options," he growled. "There is no one."

"Hermione!" Mrs. Lefevre suddenly shouted.

Wide black and brown eyes looked toward her. "Yes?" Hermione asked, confused.

"No- Severus, you cook for Hermione!"

"I- I don't think…"

"Oh! Well, he wouldn't…"

"It's perfect! You simply must agree, dear. The assignment is required. If Severus doesn't complete this assignment, I'm afraid he won't be able to continue the class."

"I suppose…" Hermione didn't want Snape to be kicked out of the school. And it wouldn't be so bad

"Wonderful!" Mrs. Lefevre exclaimed happily. Problem solved.

"Now, wait a moment!" shouted Snape. "I do not wish to cook for Ms. Granger, nor will I."

"Oh, dear."

"Ms. Granger?" she retorted. "I thought we were past that, _Mr. Snape," _He rolled his eyes._ "_What? I'm not good enough for your cooking, now is it? You'd rather be kicked out of a _cooking school _than let me eat your food?" Hermione's hands were on her hips and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was acting insane, but, to be fair, it had been a really rough day.

"Argh!" Snape grabbed fistfuls of his hair. "Are you kidding me? Hermione, this has nothing to do with you!"

"Oh, really? Then give me one good reason why I can't help."

Snape fumed. But was silent.

"Wonderful!" clapped Mrs. Lefevre. "That's settled."

Snape was glaring and Hermione stared at him defiantly. "Fine," he snarled.

"Fine," she said airily.

"Coffee?" Mrs. Lefevre beamed.

* * *

AN: Next chapter (actually the 2nd part of this chapter): actual cooking and class! Concept! Please review - I looove hearing from you :)


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